Doubted
by Roman Tudor
Summary: Accusations of his fidelity are nothing new. But he thought she of all people would know he was forever true and loyal to her. Henry and Anne have had their first real row. People have been telling Anne rumors of Henry cheating on her, which are false. This is the aftermath of their row. [Henry x Anne. Angst Feels.]


**A/N:** This was a long time coming. As anyone who knows me will tell you I love The Tudors. Which is where most of my quotes for stories come from and where **La Volta **came from. I now also role play as King Henry VIII again and am always there. I meant to put this up, it's a ficlet inspired by a role play with my Anne. Feels ahead!

The early morning sun peeked through the windows of his chamber, seeping in and drifting across the floor. Attendants stood around the room in their usual spots, impassive as he sat in his chair. His expression throughout the night had melted from a cool indifferent facade to abject misery.

She had left yesterday, back to Hever as she said she would. George had come to escort her home with a promise to the King that she would be well taken care of. He had only nodded and turned on his heel to leave, not so much as a farewell to the other Boleyn sibling or a thank you. He'd said his own to her before then.

Since then he had been in his chambers, sitting in a chair near the long table. He hadn't so much as moved in that space of time and if the men around him didn't see him breathing and blinking they would think him dead. Now morning was dawning a new day and he could do nothing but watch it come.

Part of him burned with anger for the fact that someone had planted the idea in her mind he was sleeping with other women. It also burned that she believed it so readily when he had given her his fidelity before they were even engaged. But the other part of him was miserable for it. Not only had he failed to reassure her but their argument upset her enough to drive her away.

For the entire night his thoughts had gone from one extreme back to the other. Anger, indignation, hurt, annoyance, misery, had all flown through his mind and now he was unsure what was most dominant in his mind. Neither did he show it to any of those around him. They were already worried enough that he hadn't eaten a thing aside from a small breakfast the previous morning.

The change was sudden, as was his form as he stood up from his seat. It caused all the men in the room to stand a little straighter, fear lacing their spine as he spoke up. "Leave. Now." flat, cold, anger. No one stuck around for much more than a hasty bow before they were all gone.

"Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgh!" it would seem anger was the most dominant as a yell of pure rage echoed through the room. It was accompanied by him grabbing and throwing things. Using his bare hands to tear and snap whatever he could, uncaring of what he broke or tore. The chairs were picked up and slammed against the stone floor until they snapped and broke. He would throw the pieces before reaching for something else.

All the pent up emotion of the past thirty-eight hours was being let out of him. There wasn't a single coherent thought going through his mind, nothing piercing the veil of blind rage in his mind. He flipped and tossed the table until it made a cracking sound, splitting down the middle and throwing splinters of wood everywhere. This destructive rage continued for quite some time.

Just how long he didn't know, and he didn't care either. By the time he had decimated everything he possibly could the day had brought sunlight into the room completely. It illuminated his hard work of destruction. In the middle of it all he stood, chest heaving and sweat beading his brow. Another scream of rage left him as his booted foot kicked over a piece of wood.

Something gleaming in the light caught his eye and he immediately stooped to scoop it up so that he might throw it. Fingers closed around it and for the first time he saw the blood coating them. It would seem his activities had damaged him as well, he sported some cuts from the glass and wood no doubt. But he didn't care. The fires of his anger were snuffed out now.

For he realized that the object was the little pendant locket she had given him long ago. Inside was her portrait; it had been years since it had been done but she looked no different from then. He saw testament to this as he opened it gingerly and sat down on the remains of a chair. Only the arm had been ripped off mercifully. Looking down at the picture he lifted a finger and was about to touch it but stopped. His fingers had placed enough blood on it.

It seemed symbolic to him in a way; he had given her everything else but his name and the titles wife and Queen. Why not give her his blood as well? She owned the heart that pumped it anyway, there was no point in her not having the blood as well. However he couldn't bear to stain it, his own blood or no. He didn't want even her portrait tainted.

Fingers fiddled with the chain, thoughts racing with anguish and still a hint of rage. How could it have come to this? Did she not realized that he loved her with all his being? For her he had torn his Realm of the religion it was so comfortable in. Reforming it to that they could get married and do as they so wished. Before this they had been so happy. His son was growing in her womb, becoming stronger everyday. They would be married soon and no one would question her or the baby.

Now this happened, someone had tried to tear them apart. Had they not learned though? The harder people attempted to break them up the harder they clung to one another in the aftermath. This was just a bump in the path, a small crack in their shield that he would repair soon. She couldn't believe those thoughts for long, not when he had proven himself faithful so many times to her. It wouldn't be long before he'd visit her in Hever and they would repair things between them completely.

There was room for no other outcome in this; he loved her, she was carrying their child. She would be his Queen soon. With a weary, exhausted sigh he brought the portrait to his face and kissed it softly. Eyes closed as he held it to his face, pressing it to his forehead now and clutching it like a lifeline. "We shall overcome this, my love." he whispered, voice hoarse from the yells earlier.

_Everything would be fine. It just had to be._


End file.
